


Second Skin

by myrna123



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:24:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrna123/pseuds/myrna123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair is getting stretched thinner and thinner by all his committments, and Jim doesn't know what he can do to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Skin

I'm sorry to have to do this to you, oh the faithful SENAD followers, but I am in the midst of a HORRIBLE case of writer's block, so I've MADE myself write and post the following. No beta readers, no plot, no coherent characterization. It's simply an exercise (exorcism?) to HOPEFULLY get me back on track with the myriad of stories I have in the works, but am woefully unable to finish. Please don't judge me too harshly! If any of you are like me, you'll devour a SENAD story that's 50 pages of Blair and Jim reading off the different names in the Cascade phone book! 

Here's hoping I've cleared out some cobwebs!!! 

This story is in no way affiliated with UPN or Pet Fly Productions. The characters are their property, and this story is not meant to infringe upon their copyrights. 

## Second Skin

by Myrna

Jim paced around the confines of the loft, fuming. He oughta just fucking pack up everything that belonged to Sandburg, dump it into trash bags and heave them from the balcony to the lawn below! Fucking, irresponsible, self-centered bastard! 

He was so angry he didn't realize Blair was home until he opened the door. 

"Where the hell have you been?" Jim thundered. "Where the HELL have you been?" 

Blair jerked back like he'd been struck. "What's wrong?" he asked,= 

one foot still in the hall. 

"What's wrong?" Jim echoed incredulously. "What's fucking wrong?! Where the fuck were you, Sandburg?" 

Blair backed up as far as he could against the still-open front door. "School," he said faintly. "The library. Then I had to drop by=85.= " 

"Had to?!" Jim shouted. "The only thing you *had* to do was back me up on the Braga arrest! Jesus Christ you are so fucking irresponsible! I zoned out Sandburg! Nearly got my head blown off and all because you are the most selfish, self-centered=85" 

Blair paled and looked up at Jim like he was screaming in Swahili. "Braga arrest?" he echoed. "But that's tomorrow." 

"No Sandburg, it was *today!*" 

He knew better than to argue with Jim when he was like this, but Blair shook his head. "No, you said this morning at breakfast that it was..." 

"That was yesterday!" Jim hollered, nearly shrieking in his disbelief. "Jesus Christ! Maybe if you'd come home once in awhile instead of screwing around with the flavor of the month you could keep track of time! I thought you had some prince charming down in LA. Or are you as fucking loyal to him as you are to me?" 

"Jim, I'm...I'm sorry," Blair said, standing very still. "There= 's so much going on right now and I must have...I thought it was..." 

"Save it," Jim snapped. "You'd better learn to prioritize, Sandburg. I am this close to heaving you out on your ass. When I tell you to be somewhere, I expect you to be there. Your little school friends and stupid pet projects will have to wait!" 

"You don't understand," Blair tried half-heartedly to stick up for himself. His voice trailed off before Jim had the chance to interrupt him. 

"And I don't care, either," Jim said. "You'd better shape up. I've been more than patient with you and I'm done. I'm done making excuses for you, I'm just about fucking done with you, period. Tomorrow, at three o'clock, we're due in front of Braga's warehouse. You got it?" 

Blair slowly shook his head. "Jim, I can't..." 

"You can, and you will." Jim said, heading up the stairs. He paused at his door. "If you're not there, you'd better be moving in to your new place, because you sure as hell won't be living here!" He stormed into his bedroom, really missing a door he could have slammed to punctuate his anger. Not that there was much room for the kid to misinterpret. On the whole, though, he thought he'd managed to stay pretty calm. 

As Jim was changing clothes, he heard Blair moving around in the kitchen, then picking up the phone and placing a call. He wasn't using his Sentinel hearing, but he could still hear Blair's end of the conversation. "Gary? It's Blair. Ah, not so great. Look, I was wondering if you could sit with Teddy tomorrow night?" 

The minute Jim heard the name 'Teddy,' his stomach sank and he dropped to the bed with that sickening feeling of dread at having spectacularly fucked up. Christ, Teddy Abrahms. He was an old friend of Blair's, perhaps an old lover, Jim wasn't exactly sure. In any event, he was dying of AIDS. Abandoned by his family, preceded in death by his lover, he had begged Blair to help him die at home. 

In an instant, the anger left Jim's body, replaced by an overwhelming sense of shame. 

"Come on, Gary, I can't get away tomorrow, and he's really bad....Yeah, I know. I was with him last night...I guess it was last night. God, the days are all running together....I know, Gar....Come on, man, as a favor?...Shit, Gary, no! Oh, man, that is, like, so not cool....Yeah, I know. I know, Gary! Okay, fine, I'll take your Saturday class...Shit, man no way!...Fine. Fine, the next two Saturday classes. Yeah. Thanks, then. You're a real pal." 

Blair hung up the phone with a tired sigh. Jim still sat on the bed, knowing he should go down and apologize, but feeling like he didn't even have the right to face the kid. Talk about selfish. Hearing Blair start to make another call, Jim stayed put, now wishing he had a door for an entirely different reason. 

"Tom?" Blair's voice wavered for a moment. "Hey, it's me. What's up? No...it's just been a real shitty few days, you know? Oh, because Teddy's really bad and I just...I just really messed up with Jim, and he's all disappointed in me..." 

Blair's boyfriend was a surgeon the grad student met in South America when the doctor was doing one of those goodwill tours. Blair had never said anything, but Jim got the distinct impression from the few times he'd spoken with the man, not to mention hearing Blair's end of their phone conversations, that the guy didn't exactly approve of Blair's living arrangement. He must have said something detrimental, because even after Jim showed himself to be a thoroughly insensitive lout, Blair was defending him. "No Tom, it was me. I messed up the date or something and nearly got him killed...I don't...I can't....I'm too tired, Tom, do we have to do this right now? Look, I'm just calling because I had to rearrange my schedule and I won't be able to get down this weekend. I know I said I could, but I've got to take a class on Saturday and that doesn't leave...What do you mean? Tom, what....Why?...But you said... Tom, you *promised*...Don't! Please don't do this to me! Not right now, Tom! Don't...Better for whom?! How could you do this?! It's not the same! It's not the same at all! Don't do this!..." 

Jim was tempted to grab his upstairs extension and unload on the good doctor, but it wasn't his place. And he could imagine Blair's reaction to the man who'd just reamed him a new asshole now trying to play hero. 

Stricken with indecision, Jim sat silently on his bed and listened to Blair, now silent himself, and eerily unmoving in the darkened kitchen.   
  


* * *

  
[Three Weeks Later]

Jim made a face at the reheated meatloaf on his plate. Was this day three or four for the meal? It hadn't tasted all that great on day one, he wasn't really looking forward to it tonight. He glanced at his watch and wondered where Blair was. Not exactly where he was-he was undoubtedly with Teddy. Rather, Jim was wondering when-if-he'd be home. 

The kid was running ragged these days. He was still creeping so shamefully around Jim after missing the Braga stakeout that Jim felt like an ogre every time Blair looked up at him as if he was expecting to be cuffed across the face. 

Jim was thinking about picking up a pizza and dropping by Teddy's when Blair slipped in the front door. "Hey Chief," Jim said. "You're just in time! I'm gonna chuck this and call Vito's for pizza." Jim tossed the meatloaf in the trash and picked up the phone. "Veggie special okay?" 

"Teddy's dead," Blair said without ceremony. 

Jim let the phone sink back into its cradle. "Blair, I'm sorry." 

Blair shrugged tiredly. "He's been unconscious for a couple of days now. I was...I was holding his hand and talking about...I was talking about a...a new CD I wanted....I was...I was thinking maybe I'd pick it up on the way home and then I'd play it for him tomorrow and he just....died." 

"Can I do something?" Jim asked. "Can I help?" 

"There's not much to do," Blair said. "I called the funeral home and made the arrangements. Called his friends. It's Saturday, okay?" 

Jim wasn't sure if Blair was asking his permission or asking him to attend, so he simply nodded. 

His backpack still slung over his shoulder, Blair sat down at the kitchen table. "When they came and....took him...took his body, all I kept thinking was 'man, what am I going to do with all this free time?' Pretty cold, huh?" He looked up at Jim with lifeless blue eyes, deadened by a fatigue that made Jim tired. 

'How long has it been since he's had a good night sleep?' Jim wondered. 'How long since he ate? Who's taking care of you, Blair, while you take care of everyone else?' 

"Sit down," Jim said quietly, resolving that for once, he would be the caretaker. "You want some tea?" Not waiting for an answer, he set the kettle on the stove and pulled a mug down from the shelf. 

Blair ran his hand across his forehead, looking inward and shaking his head at what he saw. "Then, I'm driving home and the whole way here, I'm thinking, 'Great, I call Tom and *he's* coming with his new *boyfriend.* Here Teddy's dead not more than a couple of hours and I'm obsessing about having to meet Mr. Perfect's Mr. Perfect. Some friend I am, right?" 

"The best," Jim said, his tone light, his eyes anything but. He sat down across from Blair and held his gaze steady. 

Blair shrugged and looked away. "I was supposed to cook dinner tonight," he said finally. "Guess it's my buy on the pizza." 

"It's covered, Chief," Jim said dismissively. 

Blair shook his head, his face screwed up in displeasure. "No, it's my turn!" he said, embarrassed at the emotion in his voice. Jim knew it had precious little to do with whose turn it was to buy dinner so he waited for Blair to continue. "I'm just....God, I'm just so fucking worthless! I can't do....I can't do anything right anymore!" 

"Don't say that!" Jim said, instinctively reaching for Blair's shoulder. The younger man jerked away, standing up to restlessly pace the kitchen. 

"Why not? It's true! I give everything a little bit of my attention, but not enough to do anything right. I let Teddy down and you and...and...and my dissertation might as well be a fucking door stop and my students, God, they probably wouldn't recognize me without a fucking Hello My Name Is badge....I try to make decisions, set priorities, but I end up giving less and less to everything, and I just...." 

"Whoa, hold on there, partner," Jim said, finally breaking in to Blair's stream of consciousness. "You helped Teddy die in comfort, surrounded by people he loved, somewhere he felt safe. You didn't let him down. God, Blair, I'm in...*awe* of that kind of generosity. And you sure as hell haven't let me down. I feel.... Blair, I feel...*privileged* that you let me share any part of you. I've told you a hundred time, *I* was the shit about the Braga thing. You....Jesus, you're....amazing." 

Blair sighed and shook his head, walking slowly back to his room. "Yeah, tell that to Tom and his *lover* when they get here," he said sadly. "I'm sure he'll be interested to hear how amazing I am."   
  


* * *

  


After the funeral, a small group of Teddy's friends met back at his condo for a potluck dinner. Blair played host while Jim hovered nervously in the background. The kid seemed fine, but the detective was unsettled by his detached demeanor. He was also unsettled by the presence of Tom Reeves. The man was one of the first to arrive and he quickly appointed himself Blair's right-hand man, much to Jim's displeasure. He wasn't at all what Jim had pictured. He was over six feet tall, balding, with wire rimmed glasses, perfect teeth and a winning smile. He called Blair 'Honey,' and 'Sweetheart,' and several sickening times 'Button.' 

Jim wanted to shake the idiot and shout "His name's Blair, you asshole!" but figured it might piss Blair off. Mr. Perfect's Mr. Perfect was none other than Nathan Boggs, a former pro baseball player who now anchored a sports show on cable TV. Jim kind of liked him. They met over a deli tray, first trading polite smiles before Boggs looked the detective up and down and slowly shook his head. 

"Tom didn't like you before," he said with a grin. "Now that he's seen you, he's going to *really* hate you." Jim looked confused as Boggs chuckled and continued. "His little *Button* made him think you were about 10 years older and a hell of a lot paunchier. As I recall, the boy's words were something along the lines of 'You know that fat cop on NYPD Blue?' Mmm mmm, I'm in for an earful on the ride back home." 

Jim laughed and shook his head. "Blair's always found the truth terribly overrated," he said with a resigned shrug. 

Boggs answered Jim's shrug with one of his own. "Oh well, I'm not going to complain. It all worked out well for us, right?" 

"What do you mean?" 

Boggs took a bite of his sandwich and shrugged again. "Well, you know. I've got Tom, you've got Blair. And they all lived happily ever after." 

Jim knit his eyebrows. "I don't have Blair," he started to say. 

Boggs lifted his own brows. "Maybe not yet," he acknowledge. "But soon." At Jim's dubious look, Boggs grinned and rocked back on his heels. "Honey, I know newlyweds who give off less sparks than the two of you. Believe me, it's coming." The ball player popped a cherry tomato in his mouth and winked at Jim before turning to look for Tom. "Pardon the pun," he said quietly and took his leave.   
  


* * *

  


It was close to midnight before Jim and Blair made it home. Blair wanted to get Teddy's place cleaned up before leaving, and Tom insisted on helping. Jim found himself more and more annoyed with the doctor's condescending attitude toward Blair. He treated the kid like he was....a kid and kept pawing on him--hugging him, petting his hair, kissing his forehead. Boggs watched it all with an air of amused detachment, but Jim was getting ready to clock the guy. When everyone had left and just the four of them remained, Jim kept getting the oddest notion that Tom was going to invite Blair to leave with him and Boggs, to join in some kind of debauched free for all. When Tom *finally* said his farewell, Jim stood tall and foreboding behind Blair, reluctantly offering his hand to the doctor and steadfastly ignoring Boggs' barely contained laughter. 

The ride home was exceedingly quiet, reminding Jim how much he missed Blair's endless chatter. They walked silently into the loft. Jim grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and followed Blair out on the balcony. The sound and smells of the water were soothing to Jim, but Blair didn't seem to notice them. He stared straight ahead with unseeing eyes, the beer bottle twirling restlessly between his hands. Finally the younger man turned and looked at him, stared at him, for an endless amount of time, and then, as if coming to a decision, he suddenly stood up straight and focused in on him. 

"I'm just so tired of feeling dead all the time; of watching little bits and pieces of myself dying with every second," he said, eyes glowing red in the moonlight. 

Jim looked away from his Guide, reaching for words that weren't cliche'd and useless. "Blair, when someone dies, someone you're close to..." 

Blair slowly shook his head. "It's not about Teddy. Not completely," he said. "It's...God, Jim, it's everything. It's me! I'm sick of...walking around inside myself. I'm sick of everything I'm *not.* Of everything I'm trying--and failing--to be! God, I want to...to shed my skin and everything else about me and start all over again!" 

Jim thought about Tom Reeves and Nathan Boggs and clenched his jaw in momentary anger. They should have known their presence would upset Blair. They should have known and excused themselves. 

But even as his anger registered, Jim knew it was aimed more at himself than at Blair's ex. *He* should have known that his Guide was floundering, drowning. It wasn't Tom's responsibility to protect the younger man, it was his. Blair opened himself up for everything; and, lately at least, for every joy he embraced, there was an answering trauma to endure. Blair felt too much. Internalized too much. It was like he had none of the defense mechanisms most people used to keep the world from beating down on them. It was for this reason, more so than fear of physical harm, that made Jim feel so protective of him. He worried far more about the emotional effects of Blair working with him than he did the physical. Maybe because he was sure he could keep Blair out of serious harm's way. He wasn't so sure he could shelter him from the mental toll of the Job. 

And he wanted to shelter him. He loved Blair's exuberance and the openness borne of a kind of childlike innocence. Blair himself was far from innocent, but the way he accepted people, the way he welcomed anyone and everyone into his circle--there was a beautiful kind of purity to it that never failed to amaze Jim. He found it hard to let anyone in. Blair found it hard *not* to. He envied his Guide that talent and vowed the Job wouldn't take it from him. 

Planning to squeeze the younger man's shoulder, Jim reached over to offer an old familiar comfort to the younger man, meaning only to convey, 'I'm here.' 

What he actually did was bring his hand up and very gently brush Blair's hair behind his ear. It prompted such a tender ache in his heart that Jim was momentarily stunned. "I couldn't stand it if you were anyone other than you," he said, suddenly hoarse. The sentiment sounded silly, and Jim half-expected Blair to make some smart remark in reply, but it was as if his Guide hadn't heard him. 

As Jim's hand slowly drew away from him, Blair stared into his clear blue eyes, not seeing the tenderness or concern, which in his mind, made his next move an act of sheer self destruction. Blair launched himself at Jim, searching and plundering the older man's mouth with such ferocity, he drew blood. 

Jim was so shocked it took a second for it to fully register exactly what the kid was doing and then it took several more to push him off. "Blair...Blair!" Jim huffed, shaking him by the shoulders to get him back to his senses. "That's not the answer!" 

"I don't care!" Blair cried. "I'm sick of being afraid; of wanting and needing and knowing I can't ever have what I want! I don't care anymore! I don't care!" He threw his arms around Jim, locking his mouth once more over the surprised detective's. He shoved his tongue down Jim's throat, taking what would never be offered. For once there was no fear, there was no thought of consequence. So what if he ended up on the street; so what if his dissertation was only good for lining the bottom of a bird cage. So fucking what! 

"Stop it!" Jim said, pushing Blair away. "Think for a minute!" 

"I'm through thinking!" Blair said breathlessly. "I'm through obsessing over everything I do and think and feel. I don't care anymore, Jim, don't you get it? I don't care that you'll say it's a mistake in the morning, I don't care that it'll change everything between us, I don't care that you don't love me. I don't care!" 

"Blair, I...." 

Blair surged forward, grabbing the front of Jim's shirt in his fists. He shook the larger man, his eyes burning a hole through Jim's core. "I know you want me. Everyone wants me at first. Everyone wants a taste. Some even come back for seconds." 

"That's not the issue," Jim said, backing stiffly away. 

"It was bound to happen sooner or later," Blair continued, his eyes hypnotically suggestive, his hips swaying slightly to a soundtrack only he could hear. "You know you want it, Jim. You know you want me. Who cares what happens next?" 

Jim's voice was nothing but a hoarse whisper. "I care." 

"Everyone wants a bite," Blair said. "They all want to try me. Take a bite, Jim. Just a little bite. You know you want it." 

"You don't know what I want!" Jim said, swallowing hard and trying to stifle the overwhelming surges of desire zipping up and down his spine and tingling in his thighs. 

Blair was in his face again, painfully pinching his skin as he grabbed handfuls of his shirt. "I want to *feel* something, Jim!" he said, eyes tearing into the detective, begging Jim to understand and fulfill. "Anything, something, pain, pleasure, hope, God help me, Jim, I just want to feel something!" 

And were he ever called upon for it later, Jim would identify that as the exact moment in time he lost control of the situation and himself.   
  


* * *

  


Undressing one another was painful and clumsy in their haste, and with a cry of frustration, Blair pushed himself away from Jim and tore his own clothes off. Jim took his cue and did the same, ready when Blair rushed back into his embrace. Blair's mouth was everywhere, exploring every inch of skin available to him. Trying for a different angle, Blair pushed Jim toward the couch, but they missed and ended up tumbling to the floor. Ignoring the shock of pain, Jim pushed Blair over onto his back and started his own expedition over the young man's body. Tongue everywhere, Jim tasted sweat and salt and ejaculate. He felt Blair's thundering heart as it pounded against his own chest and smelled the intensity of their desire as it wafted through the room. 

Blair moaned painfully when Jim pressed more of his weight onto him. With surprising strength Blair rolled to his side, managing to turn Jim onto his back, pinning him there with a well placed knee to his groin. Jim groaned and after several tries, managed to disengage Blair's hold. Without a word, he pulled Blair up and they groped their way to the stairs, lumbering eagerly up to the bedroom. 

They fell on the bed, groping, kissing, caressing, holding. 

"Tell me what you want," Jim whispered into Blair's ear, sucking on the cold silver earrings. 

"You know what I want," Blair whispered back, turning his head and offering the full expanse of his neck. "You've always known." 

"I want to hear it from you," Jim replied, alternately biting, then blowing cool air across Blair's neckline. 

Eyes squeezed tight, as if refusal meant some diabolical physical pain, Blair said, "I want you inside me."   
  


* * *

  


Jim's eyes traveled down his own chest and stopped at his groin; he stared in wonder at the point of connection between he and his Guide. His heart hammered noisily in his ears, but he could have sworn there was a lilting soundtrack providing beautiful background music. A light seemed to glow around Blair's body, a shining, shimmering frame that surrounded him, protected him. 

In that one moment, Jim understood. Right there, right then, it all made sense. Every decision he'd ever made--big and small, every detour he despaired over, every victory he celebrated--all of it had been designed to bring him to this one, monumental moment in time. There could be no regrets because everything that had ever happened to him had led him here. And here was where he would remain forever. The realization calmed him, centered him. He knew now, that everything was going to be fine. 

Jim could almost see the sparks of electricity Blair experienced every time he realized Jim was inside of him. Jim jerked his hips just to see it again, to watch Blair's back arch off the bed and witness the burst of arousal that dilated his pupils. A light sheen of sweat stood out on Blair's body, the scent of desire swirling around the room, imprinting itself forever on Jim's psyche. 

He began to undulate now, slowly, but with authority and ownership. 

Blair moaned as if he'd been splayed wide open with a knife, shoving upward in answer to Jim's motion. God, this was life. He was here; he was alive; he could feel and hope and think; he could want; he could decide. This was life and it was filling him! 

"Ungh, God, Yes!" Blair cried, then bit his lip to keep from saying more. The words "hurt me!" bounced around his brain, but even in his muddled state of mind, nearly lost to himself, Blair knew they would upset Jim and he didn't want anything to ruin this. 

"Tell me this is what you want!" Jim ordered, head back, eyes closed, hips driving forward into his writhing guide. "Tell me I'm what you want! Tell me I'm what you need!" 

"Oh, God you know it! You know it's you, it's always been you!" Blair shouted in reply. "You're all I want; you're all I am!" 

"What do you want, Blair?" Jim panted, groaning at the younger man's painful response to his mighty thrust. "Tell me what you want!" 

"Ungh, God!" Blair cried. "I want you to cum!" he grunted raggedly. "I want you to explode inside me!" he clenched his ass around Jim's cock, a vigorous lunge his punishment and reward. "I want your hot semen swimming inside me!" Another lunge, Blair shouted and leaned up, gripping the bedclothes so he could force himself even harder upward as Jim thrust downward. A pair of screams drifted up to the ceiling and joined the echoes of panting gasps. "I want to you to cum so hard and so fast, I feel you inside me every time I move, every time I *think!*" 

Jim yelled his warning and did as he was told, cumming hard and fast inside his willing guide. Their shouts rose in tandem--Jim's a cry of surrender and Blair's a roar of victory.   
  


* * *

  


While Jim was in the bathroom, Blair quickly grabbed what clothes of his he could find. He was hugging them close to his body and heading for the stairs when Jim came back with a wet wash cloth. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice soft with hurt. 

Blair looked up, all the ferocity purged from his system and replaced with hesitant timidity. "I....well .... you'll want to sleep now," he said, nodding toward the door. 

"Not without you," Jim whispered. 

Blair's eyes widened. "You want me to stay?" he asked breathlessly. 

The amazement in his tone brought tears to Jim's eyes. *I'll protect you,* he vowed, knowing Blair was not ready to hear the words. *I'll love you forever.* Jim got into bed, then held the covers open for the younger man. "I want you to stay," he said. 

Blair slowly crawled into bed, exercising great care, as if sudden movement would break the magical spell. "Whatever happens tomorrow, it'll be okay," Blair promised in a whisper. "If you say it was a mistake, I'll be okay." 

Jim kissed Blair's forehead. "Liar," he said affectionately. Blair looked confused, then opened his mouth to disagree, but Jim kissed him before he could. "It's okay," the detective said lightly. "Technically BS is a form of male bonding." A smile played at Blair's lips and Jim made another vow to himself that he would see that smile as often as humanly possibly in the coming days and weeks and months. And years. He gently traced the curve of Blair's kiss swollen lips. "I love you," he whispered. 

Blair flushed in consummate pleasure, then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why?" he asked. 

Jim lifted a single eyebrow, amusement dancing in his blue eyes. "Damned if I know, Sandburg," he said. He bent down and lightly pressed his lips to Blair's. "You're the brains around here, you figure it out." 

Blair chuckled sleepily. "I love you, too," he mumbled. 

Jim spooned up behind him, squeezing him tightly for a moment. "Mmm? Why?" He could hear the smile on Blair's face as he answered. 

"Because." 

Jim grinned and nipped at Blair's shoulder. "That's as good a reason as any, Chief," he said happily. "I'll take it."   
  


* * *

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